


So Much To Care About

by reginahalliwell



Category: Rent - Larson
Genre: M/M, Teenagers, repost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-06
Updated: 2008-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-30 00:09:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6399751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reginahalliwell/pseuds/reginahalliwell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reposted from my FF.Net account from a decade ago.</p><p>Teen!Mark and Teen!Roger, deeply derivative of something else I had been reading at the time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How You Thrive

Mark woke slowly, distantly hearing his alarm clock buzzing obnoxiously, yet not wanting to get up and turn it off. He got up, ignoring the diversion that greeted him every few mornings. Unhurriedly he brushed his teeth, put on his glasses, and dressed himself. His favorite shirt was dirty, so he pulled on the nearest clean thing he could find. Thankfully, by the time he was ready, his erection had dissipated and he could face his family.

Downstairs, Mrs. Cohen had made breakfast, and she and Cindy were sitting at the table enjoying it. Mr. Cohen, habitually absent at this time of day, was standing by the kitchen counter sipping a mug of coffee as he read the morning paper.

Mark groaned inwardly.

Inevitably, Cindy was the first to speak to him. "Marky," she ground out, her voice sugary, "aren't you excited for your first day as a sophomore?"

He could sense the sarcasm in her words and see the mockery in her eyes.

"Mark, sweetheart, have something to eat," his mother said, beckoning to the table. Mr. Cohen said nothing.

Mark, as if by rote, sat down at the table and took a piece of buttered toast as well as some scrambled eggs for himself. He finished them quickly, wanting to get on his way to school as quickly as possible. He said goodbye to his mother and walked outside.

Though it was early September, the weather was cool enough that it merited Mark putting on his scarf. It was his favorite, a blue and white striped scarf that he wore almost every day.

He got out his bike and headed off, feeling the slight breeze ruffle his short strawberry blond hair. Mark's mind went blank; he was just cherishing the early fall surroundings and thinking about nothing. He rode for a few minutes and was about halfway to school, when another boy on a bike turned the corner and came right out in front of him.

Mark abruptly skidded to a halt, as the other boy hastily did the same. They avoided hitting each other, but just barely.

Mark's glasses had gone slightly askew with the strain of stopping, and he paused to fix them before tripping a bit while trying to get off his bike.

The other boy, a taller, blonder, more stereotypically attractive boy than Mark was, also got off, though much more suavely. They approached each other. Mark held out his hand, acting much more confident than he felt, seeing as this boy looked much older than Mark as well as looking annoyed.

"Sorry about that. I didn't see you."

"Yeah, I figured, seeing as you damn near almost ran me over." Though the words were harsh, the boy's tone wasn't biting.

"Really, I'm sorry." Mark was sure that he looked weak and pathetic, but in his mind weak and pathetic and in one piece was better than strong and arrogant and beat up. That was one point on which he and his father held opposing opinions.

The other boy took pity on Mark, seeing the look on his face, and shook the offered hand. "Roger. Roger Davis. Sorry I was an ass to you. I haven't had a great morning."

"Mark Cohen. Me neither."

"Well, Mark Cohen, I don't really feel like being late for school on the first day, so I'm gonna get going. But nice to have met you."

"You go to Scarsdale High?" Mark asked, on the off chance that the boy was a high school student instead of the college student he looked like.

"Yeah, you?"

"Yeah."

"Well, we should go then. You dropped your scarf."

And indeed Mark had. His trademark scarf was lying on the ground, tangled around some leaves. He reached down and picked it up, wrapping it more securely around his neck.

They both mounted their bikes and took off, pedaling lazing. As they approached the high school, they slowed and Roger spoke once more: "Hey, Mark, what grade are you?"

Mark's cheeks were burning inside and he desperately hoped it wasn't showing. It could be worse, he thought to himself. I could be a freshman.

"I'm a sophomore," Mark answered.

Roger nodded. Mark didn't know what that meant.

Roger started off towards the school building, but paused and turned back towards Mark. "I'm a junior. See you later."

Mark shook his head confusedly. There was something… something different about this boy. He was strange compared to the other guys his age. There was a spark. A spark that Mark saw, heard, felt… he didn't know what was going on.

This was a feeling that Mark hadn't gotten around a person since his first girlfriend.

He had dated Nanette Himmelfarb for all of freshman year and partially through the summer. They had done everything that dating couples do, and Mark had enjoyed nearly every minute of it. He had loved the making out, and the idea of having a "girlfriend", and the—no, he hadn't really like the dancing that she had made him learn once—but most of it he had been a willing, and active participant.

So, Mark knew that whatever he felt about Roger, it wasn't attraction. Because he liked women. Nanette had turned him on, and given him hand jobs and even blown him. Those things he had never thought about doing with another guy. Mark was not gay. Absolutely not. That was the sort of thing that in Scarsdale got you beaten up.

But he shouldn't have been worrying about that. Because Mark knew, without any lack of certainty, that he was definitely not gay.


	2. Don't Think All Day

Mark went through the motions of the day until 4th period. He was dreading the terror that was 5th period, i.e. lunch, and wasn't focusing on where he was walking in the halls. He almost tripped over a foot that was extended out past the desk closest to the doorway as he walked in. He caught himself, though he had disturbed the person's foot.

Mark turned to apologize and found himself speaking to Roger. His jaw, lowered from speaking, remained that way for a few seconds until Mark regained his composure.

"Sorry, Roger," Mark apologized, the generally insincere words taking meaning for him.

"No problem. You are pretty clumsy, though, kid," Roger said with a smile.

Mark wasn't sure what he should take from that, so he smiled slightly and moved away to sit down a few rows over. The seat next to Roger was empty, so as soon as Mark started leaving, Roger called his name and tapped the desk, wanting Mark to sit there.

Mark was in total denial of the feelings inside of him. Total and utter denial, and so he sat down, as if to prove to himself that he could sit there and not have a single non-straight thought about Roger.

As Mark was forced to admit to himself at the end of class, he couldn't.

All Mark could think about in class was the way that Roger held his pen and the way that Roger dipped his head down close to his notebook when he was writing and the way that Roger leaned back in his desk when not taking notes, looking languid and elegant. He noticed how Roger bit his lip and scribbled something on the page, as if he were having some sort of intellectual epiphany.

Mark noticed just about everything that Roger did in English class that day. The only think Mark utterly failed to notice was the way that Roger was noticing him.

So maybe Mark was gay. Maybe. But even so, Roger definitely wasn't. Nope, Roger was the straight, big man on campus, attractive, all-the-girls-want-to-be-with-me sort of guy. He could not be gay. Mark would just have to put his (uncertain and totally nonconcrete)

The usual awkwardness Mark experienced in his first lunch freshman year (finding someone, anyone that he recognized) was replaced this year with sitting at a crowded lunch table, sharing a plastic chair with Roger.

The school administration had either been unable to properly count the number of chairs in the lunchroom or had been unable to appropriate lunch times efficiently. Either way, Mark and Roger, along with several other students, due to the extreme lack of cafeteria chairs, had been left to share.

There sat Mark, one butt cheek on and one off the brown chair. He felt extremely uncomfortable, in large part because of the seating situation, but also because of who he was sharing the chair with. Mark tried to keep himself away from Roger, almost afraid of what would happen if he touched him.

They ate lunch, Mark constantly conscious of how and what he was eating. He was thrilled when the bell sounded, signaling the end of the period.

"See you later," Roger said casually, touching Mark's shoulder off-handedly as he passed.

Mark wondered to himself what exactly that motion meant. Though he had no thought whatsoever that Roger could even possibly be gay, he had even less understanding of why Roger would hang around Mark at all.

Mark decided that he was thinking too much. He was wasting his first day away thinking about someone who probably had less than zero interest in him even as a friend. He should be focusing on school. Mark was good at school. School was like work. It was a job, and you could succeed at it.

And Mark did succeed. He got straight "A" grades in all his classes his freshman year and was planning on repeating that pattern this year.

He couldn't let himself get distracted by anything, let alone a boy. His parents appreciated his high grades, since his sister was the exact opposite, and they might understand a girl distraction—they had when he dated Nanette Himmelfarb last year—but for a boy…that would not go well at all.

Not that it was going to go, at all. Because Roger was probably just hanging around Mark because he was so pathetic looking. Tomorrow things would be back to normal. Mark would return to his isolated, detached self and everything would be fine.

But for some reason, there was an itch inside Mark that made him think that "fine" was not going to cut it anymore. He had to be better than fine. Maybe he could even be happy.

So, Mark was incredibly surprised when Roger approached his locker (why didn't he know where Roger's locker was, too?) and asked to ride home with Mark.

Mark nodded dumbly and got his books together before he and Roger set off toward the parking lot.

"How was your day," Roger initiated.

"Good. My classes are interesting, so…"

"Yeah, mine aren't too bad either. Especially English," he commented.

"Hey, why are we in the same English class?" Mark ventured.

"Well, since I'm a transfer this year, my English credit didn't go over. I have to take the Sophomore Class because what we did at my old school was totally different from the same class here. To get credit, I have to have done the same stuff as you guys. It's cool, though. I like English, and you're there, so I'm sure it'll be good."

Mark could only nod.

They rode in silence for a few minutes until they approached Roger's house. Roger stopped his bike, and Mark followed suit.

"Are you okay, Mark. With school, I mean. You seemed sort of uncomfortable at school today. Do you, I mean, don't take this the wrong way or whatever, but… do you have friends? People that you can hang out with or something?" Roger seemed tentative but sincere in asking.

Mark looked down, skidding his foot against the sidewalk as his scarf hung loosely about his neck. "I'm fine. I don't really have much in common with most of the people my age, but it doesn't really bother me."

"Well, I'm your age, sort of, and we get along pretty well, don't we?" Roger seemed strangely eager.

"I guess. Yeah, we do."

"Good, cause I don't have that many good friends either."

"But what about all those…?"

"All those guys at lunch and stuff…some of them I met earlier this summer, and we get along fine. There's some cool people here, but no one really unique. They're all the same bland type of jock, or junkie, or smarty, or whatever. I haven't met a really interesting person here. Besides you, I mean."

Mark looked up at him, obviously surprised. He was starting to feel really uncomfortable with this situation. No guys he knew talked like this.

"This is kind of—" Mark was cut off.

"Weird, yeah, I know. Guys aren't supposed to talk like this or whatever. Don't give in to stereotypes. I mean, I'm bi, but does that mean that I'm automatically emo or a slut or something? No. Don't go with what they make you think. Just be you."

Mark's ears perked. This is new, he thought.

"Right. That will end well," Mark remarked cynically.

"Whatever. If you ever want to hang out with someone who won't judge you, call or come over or something," Roger offered, dismounting his bike and walking it to his house.

When Roger got to his garage, he turned back. "See you tomorrow. Same time? Just watch where you're going next time. I can't be breaking any limbs, now."

He smiled, and Mark genuinely smiled back for the first time in a long while. "I'll try," he said, "See ya."

And Mark rode home, not thinking about a thing.


	3. To Days of Inspiration

The next day, after school, Mark walked inside to find his sister on the couch with her boyfriend of the week. They seemed too busy to notice his entrance, so he just went upstairs and started his homework. Obviously, he didn't have very much; he just had to cover his books and read a chapter or two. When he finished about a half an hour later, he decided to go outside and film.

Reaching into his closet, he carefully took out his most prized possession: his camera. His parents had bought it for him for his birthday last year, and Mark had gotten a job over the summer to help pay for new film. It hadn't gotten much use lately. Mark had been either too busy or too uninspired or too indifferent to take it out in almost a month.

Now, however, he felt reconnected. He wanted to go outside and film whoever, whatever, anything to pull him back into the world he knew, the world he frequently hid from.

He went back outside, again remaining unnoticed by Cindy and what's-his-name. Instead of biking, he just walked, taking everything in. He decided to go to the park a few blocks away and film people as they came and left and everything in between.

When he got there, he filmed an old man sitting on a bench that was watching his daughter and granddaughter swing. A young woman and her boyfriend holding hands as they walked. A teenage boy sitting underneath a tree, writing something in a ratty notebook.

Something about the boy caught Mark's eye and he zoomed in, focusing the camera closely on the young man. He walked closer and panned around the tree, before realizing just who it was that was sitting there. Roger.

Roger?

What should he do? Should he leave? Had Roger noticed him yet? What was he writ—"Hey Mark," Roger greeted, not getting up, just raising his voice slightly, as Mark was a mere 20 feet away.

"Roger," Mark greeted back, moving towards him as he put the camera into his messenger bag.

"Sit down," Roger beckoned softly.

He sat. Roger had set down his notebook and pen and Mark tried to see what was in it as he sat down, leaning against the old tree.

"It's song lyrics," Roger explained, noticing Mark's searching gaze.

"Oh," Mark nodded, ashamed of his intrusive curiosity.

"It's cool. They're not private or anything. I mean, I wouldn't go singing them to the world just yet, but I don't mind if you look. They're crap anyway. It doesn't matter."

"I'm sure they aren't," Mark assured him. "Are you in a band or something, or is it more like poetry?"

"I'm in a band. The Well Hungarians. Poetry's cool, though. That's why I think our English class is pretty interesting."

"Yeah, it is. I like it more for the drama though."

Gesturing to the camera, Roger asked, "You write plays?"

"I haven't written any yet, but hopefully I'll be starting a screenplay soon. Right now I just like filming."

"What did you film just now?"

"Just…people. That guy over there," Mark gestured to the old man, "and that couple, and you," he finished, his voice trailing off.

Roger nodded.

"So. You're not as detached as I thought you were."

"I'm not detached." Roger looked dubious. "I'm not," Mark protested.

They shared a look, the conversation turning silly, and both laughed. "Okay, so maybe I am," Mark agreed, "but wait until you see my home life. You'll understand."

Roger nodded, and asked, "And when will that happen?"

"Whenever you want." The conversation was taking a turn for the serious now, and Mark decided to be brave. "You could come over now, stay for dinner maybe?"

Roger looked at him, and Mark was suddenly very unsure of if he should have done that. He didn't really know what he was doing. Why was he trying so hard to get to know Roger? Just because Roger was bi didn't mean that he was single, or even interested in Mark. And it definitely didn't mean that Mark was ready for a relationship. Especially not one with another guy.

After a few seconds, Roger nodded his head in assent. "Sure. Can I spend the night, though? My home life is not much better than you claim yours is and any chance I have to get away from it, I take."

Mark gulped silently. He thought about all the possible circumstances that could put them in and then tossed it all aside and mentally said, to hell with it. Just let yourself feel something, for once, even if it's not what he feels.

"I guess. My mom has to agree, though."

"What about your dad?"

"He works a lot, usually really late, so he probably won't even be back until we get to bed, and he'll leave early in the morning. He and I really aren't that close."

"Yeah, same with me and my dad. Well, the not being close part, not the other part."

"Oh, okay." There was a pause and Mark didn't really want to pry any further, so he ended that line of conversation and just asked, "You wanna go now? Or, we could hand here a while longer…."

"Nah, we can go. What I was writing is crap, anyway. I'm uninspired."

"I was uninspired too, until today. I hadn't brought my camera out in a long time."

"Hmm, I wonder what it was that inspired you? And can I have some of it? I really wish I could write something better than this shit."

Mark shook his head. "It's just one of those days, I guess."

Roger smiled, almost knowingly, and acquiesced, "If you say so."

Mark's mother was home when Mark brought Roger in, and she happily agreed to let Roger stay the night. She made dinner, and they ate it together (though Cindy was absent, as was Mr. Cohen) and then had pie for dessert. It wasn't homemade, but it was still delicious.

"Do you have any homework, sweetie?"

"I finished it when I got home, mom. Plus, it's only the second day, so they assigned hardly anything."

"Alright, but I don't want you having friends spend the night on school nights very often, honey. It's not good for you studies."

"Mom," Mark whined.

Before he could say anything, his mother interrupted him, "Now sweetie, I'm not trying to be such a wicked witch here, I'm just trying to help your study habits."

Mark, who was extremely embarrassed, just agreed with his mother and appeased her so they could get away and the embarrassment could cease.

They headed upstairs. Cindy wasn't in her room. "You have a sister," Roger asked, seeing that the feminine room was empty.

"Yeah," Mark answered, "but she's a bit of a slut so she's out right now with some guy."

"Whatever gets you through the day, I guess," Roger commented almost philosophically.

Mark agreed and then hesitantly led Roger into his own room. The sun was setting by now, casting shadows throughout the room as they entered, until Mark turned the lights on, and they disappeared.

"So," Roger began, not really having anything to say, just wanting to break the silence.

"Yeah. So," Mark repeated. Roger gestured to his bookshelf, and they spent an hour or so talking about the books on his bookshelf.

"Well, what sort of stuff are you interested in, besides film I mean?" Roger asked, looking around the room.

"Just generic stuff, I guess. I wanna go to Brown, so I really focus on my studies and there isn't much time for distractions."

"You have to have some interests."

"I don't know…."

The silence descended again.

Suddenly, Mark smiled, and took out his camera, aiming it at his crush.

"Close on Roger, whose charisma and personality won him friends his very first day at school. Tell the folks at home what's new in your life," Mark joked. He was really filming, but this wasn't serious stuff, it was just for fun. He was joking around.

Roger didn't take it that way. He took it like a confessional.

Roger faced the camera and said plainly, "You are."

Mark's grin faded instantly. His face was inquisitive, awestruck, confused, everything all at once.

He lowered the camera. "What do you mean?" Mark asked, not sure he was ready for the answer.

"I mean, you're the best thing that's happened to me in a long time." Mark wasn't used to speaking this openly; it made him uncomfortable, not to mention the weight Roger's words held because he spoke about him.

"Uh, oh." Mark wasn't sure what to say. Finally, he settled on the truth. "Me too. You asked earlier what made me inspired. It wasn't just any old day. It was you. There's something, I don't know. We just click, you know. You made me different since the moment I almost ran into you."

Roger looked down, and smiled.

"Mark," he began. "You wanna do some weed?"

"That was random," Mark commented, not answering.

"Well, you just, the way that you were just talking made me think about how being high always gives me those moments of clarity too, and I have some with me, so…"

Mark paused. Was this just an easy way for them to both get high so they could express whatever was hidden inside themselves without any fear of embarrassment? He didn't care.

"Sure," Mark replied.

After, they were getting ready for bed, now high. Roger had borrowed Mark's sleeping bag and was on the floor in it. They were half high, half asleep, when Roger asked, "Mark?"

Mark, totally out of it, responded, "Yeah Roger?"

"Do you like me? Do you want to go out?"

"Are you asking me if I want to be your boyfriend?"

"Does that freak you out? I thought—because you've been staring—sorry if I assumed—just figured why the hell not ask…"

"No, you're right. I do—" yawn "like you. I'd like to go out with you. I've never dated a guy, though… so I don't really…"

"It's fine, Mark, it's not about what you've done, it's about what we will do…"

"Okay," Mark responded, "so we're boyfriends?"

"I guess we are," Roger answered, smiling up at Mark from his place on the floor, and as totally out of it as he was, Mark could see that Roger really seemed happy about this new development.

Mark smiled as he fell asleep, thinking that he and Roger could talk about this more in the morning.


	4. Some Life That We've Chosen

The next morning was chaos, and Roger and Mark didn't get a chance to really talk until they were headed off to school. They rode their bikes slowly, lazily, as if they wanted to hold on to their time together before they arrived at school. Mark broached the silence first.

"So, are we… are we a thing now?" His voice was uncertain and he looked at Roger questioningly.

Roger looked at him and stated, "If you still want to be."

Mark nodded slowly, and then focused on riding his bike. This was easily the strangest morning of his life. If had begun just like every other morning this year, but this time he woke up and got ready for school with Roger, and that made it all the more interesting.

"And you're okay with me not having any," he swallowed and searched for the word, "experience? With guys, I mean."

"Mark, I'm not exactly Mr. Queer myself. I've never actually had a relationship with a guy before either. I've hardly had a relationship with a girl, anyway."

"What do you mean?" Mark looked puzzled. He assumed that Roger had… well, no one looked and acted like Roger without attracting some attention.

"I've had flings before. Groupies. It's a real ego booster when you see someone looking up at you with such admiration and desire. It's hard to resist."

"But, just girls, right? Have you ever been with a guy?"

"Mark, please just accept that I am as new at this as you are. We can learn together, okay?"

Mark looked at him, his eyes twinkling. "Okay. Let's do that."

They were getting closer to school now, their time alone drawing to a close.

Before they reached eyesight of the school, Roger paused, his bike slowing to a stop. Mark did the same.

They both sat/stood there, looking around, at each other, at the trees, at the cars passing, at anything, at nothing.

"This is awkward," Mark commented.

"Obviously," Roger replied, smiling and breaking the tension.

"Should we—are we supposed to, you know… I don't know... whatever, now?" Mark fumbled, flustered.

"We're not supposed to do anything. What do you want to do? We could do nothing, and just park our bikes and walk in to school as friends, nothing more. Or," he continued, "I could kiss you now. Or hug you… whatever you're comfortable with. And we could park our bikes and walk in to school as a couple."

Mark was silent. He knew that this was important. This was the difference between acting on their decision to be in a relationship and ignoring it because it was uncomfortable.

"How about a hug," Mark offered, not sure that he was ready to be kissing Roger, much as he wanted to, let alone in public. No, he wanted their first kiss to be just them.

Roger nodded his assent. He took the initiative and put up the kickstand on his bike and stepped over to Mark, who looked tense.

When Roger put his arms around Mark, the boy let go. All the stress left him and he hugged back with all his might.

Mark though that Roger didn't know what it meant for him to have someone.

But Roger did know. Roger knew because he saw how Mark hid in his work. How lonely Mark was. He saw it all, and it hurt him. But, it made Roger happy that he could be the one person to change all that for Mark.

So, when Mark's grip loosened, Roger pulled away slowly and smiled.

Mark smiled back.

They both wanted so much more, but for now they had exactly what they needed.

When they arrived at school, content, they dismounted their bikes and walked inside together, not holding hands, just barely touching. To the casual observer, it was obvious that these two were not merely friends.

And to several people that day who were particularly observant, Mark and Roger were the perfect subjects for taunting and teasing and insulting. Some girls giggled when they saw how they leaned in close to talk to one another, how the look in their eyes as they looked at each other spoke volumes, and how they lingered near each other, for no obvious reason, just to be close.

Boys were less forgiving. In gym, Roger was ignored. Whereas the day before he had gotten slaps and grins and interested chatter, today he received cold looks and colder shoulders. They acted like he simply wasn't there.

For Mark, who was always teased about his pallor and his glasses and how his camera went with him almost everywhere and his quiet, shy persona, the treatment wasn't much different than how he normally went about his day. What he did notice was that an occasional glance would be directed his way, and it would linger as if making a judgment or determination about him, rather than just drifting over him and passing him by to look at something else.

It made them both seriously consider what they were doing. The sad truth was, this was effectively social suicide. There were no other "out" students at the school, which planted all the focus on them.

They could only hope that the treatment wouldn't worsen.

Whatever happened at school that day was made up for by the event of their after school adventure to Roger's house.

Roger was an only child and neither of his parents were home, so that was the optimal place for Mark and Roger to spend some time together.

When they entered, Roger went into the kitchen and got himself a can of Coke, offering one to Mark as well. He accepted it, but only to give him something to distract him, to have something to do with his hands… and his mouth.

Roger cleared his throat.

"Will this ever get any less awkward," Mark asked, sighing.

"I hope so," Roger responded.

They approached the living room couch, overanalyzing where they should sit relative to one another. Eventually they both seemingly decided that it was best to be comfortable, but not too intimate, so there was about a foot and a half between them on the couch, but they were turned slightly towards each other.

Mark and Roger both opened up their cans with a pop and a whizzz and then awkwardly both sipped at their drinks.

After a second, Mark stopped drinking and set down his can. "Did you notice at school—"

"Yeah, I noticed," Roger replied quickly.

Noting Roger's apparent anxiety, he suggested, "If it really bothers you that much, we don't have to do this. Nothing's really happened yet, anyway. We could just end this here, right now, and you could go back to being the popular musician guy at school."

Roger looked at Mark sharply. "That doesn't matter," he said. "It sucks, I guess, but I can deal with it. You're worth it."

Mark blushed and looked down.

"Well then," Roger continued, "about the other thing you said, about nothing happening yet—I think that it's about time we changed that."

Mark looked up, still blushing, and tilted his head to look at Roger quizzically.

Roger then scooted over, until their knees were against each other, and took Mark's neck in his hand, pulling him gently over.

Mark leaned in, and slowly, ever so slowly, their mouths touched.

Mark's hand drifted to play with Roger's hair. Roger's fingers gently massaged Mark's neck. Their eyes opened, and they pulled back just enough to look at each other.

"So, we're doing this?" Roger asked, hoping he knew the answer.

Mark smiled, and responded "yes" before pulling Roger towards him a bit more forcefully and meeting their lips once more. They kissed softly, both getting used to the experience of kissing another male. It was new and different and they both thoroughly enjoyed each other.

They had leaned back slightly onto the back of the couch as they kissed, still vertical but more relaxed.

After a few more seconds, they heard a cough, and pulled away immediately. There stood Roger's mother, or at least Mark assumed, who had entered quiet as a mouse and was now staring at them with the strangest look on her face.

"What exactly is going on here?" she demanded.


	5. You're Not Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter is dedicated to all the fans of RENT whose hearts were broken from the recent news of the closing of Rent on Broadway. Also, to all former and current cast and crew members, and most importantly to Jonathan Larson, whose amazing musical has touched us all.

Roger's mother stood, one hand on her hip, the other holding her keys, in the doorway staring at Mark and Roger. For moments they sat, frozen, uncertain as to what to do. Then, they hesitatingly separated, each ending on opposite ends of the couch.

"Hey, mom," Roger said. To Mark, he seemed nonchalant, but inside, Roger was scared shitless. That had been so close. Roger didn't know his mother's beliefs about gays, but he knew his father's, and if that had been his father that walked in, Roger wouldn't be able to walk right now.

Luckily, Roger's mother seemed to be a bit more understanding.

"How long has this been going on, Roger?" she asked, her gaze wavering between Roger and The-Pale-Boy-Roger-Was-Kissing.

Roger cleared his throat, and answered, "It hasn't. Been going on, I mean. That was the first… our first… you know."

Roger's mom nodded.

"Does he have a name?" she asked, shock still registering on her face, but her kind eyes held understanding.

"Mark. Mark, I'm Mark." Said boy was flustered beyond belief as he struggled to reply. "Cohen," he added as an afterthought, filling the silence.

"It's nice to meet you, Mark."

More silence.

"So, mom, did you want—"

"No, Roger, honey. Just got home, heard some noise in here. I'll leave you two alone. But, Roger, you'd best be careful when your father gets home."

Roger nodded.

"Okay, then. You're welcome to stay for dinner, Mark. I'm going to go get it started."

She left the room, and Roger and Mark looked at each other. Roger commented, "she took that better than I thought she would."

"It's way better than what my mom would do, I guarantee it."

"Hopefully we won't have to test your theory for a while. Let's go upstairs," Roger beckoned, grinning.

Mark stood up awkwardly and then hesitantly followed Roger up the stairs.

"We are so lucky that my mom acted like that. It could have been so bad."

"Yeah. Does this mean you want to not—" Mark broke off, unsure of his wording.

"No. Are you kidding me? That makes it way more exciting. Don't you think?"

Mark did feel a small thrill at the thought that they might get caught in the midst of what a parent would consider inappropriate behavior. He nodded shyly.

"Alright then. What do you say we pick up where we left off downstairs," Roger asked, wrapping his arms around Mark.

The combination of Mark's newfound courage, the safe, comfortable feeling of Roger's arms around him, and Mark's hormones led him to turn his body to face Roger, pressing them against each other.

Mark backed Roger up slowly until Roger's calves hit the mattress behind him, and they fell over. Once horizontal, they turned so that they were lying side by side.

Roger's mouth found Mark's, and they kissed lightly. When the kiss deepened, Mark broke away. "Is this too fast," he asked.

"I don't know, do you think it is?" Roger answered, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.

"Dunno," Mark mumbled, his fingers touching Roger's. "I just… if you were a girl we would be going way slower. I mean, we only just started this thing yesterday."

"True. But, I'm not a girl."

"I had noticed," Mark said, smiling as he pressed further against Roger. Both of them were slightly aroused.

Roger groaned. "Mark," he started, pulling away a bit. "We aren't going to have sex here. Not even close. But even if I were considering that right now, we would both have to be ready. You're comfortable with this, right? Just being here with me, like this? You're not afraid?"

Mark looked down. "No. But you make me nervous."

"Good." At Mark's questioning glance, Roger explained. "You make me nervous too."

Mark laughed out loud. "No way," he said. "I would never know. You're so hard to read."

"Yeah. You think you are, but you wear your emotions on your sleeve."

"I'm not a sissy," Mark protested.

"No, you're not," Roger agreed. "But you're allowed to have emotions, Mark. Everyone does. And I hope that at some point we'll be comfortable sharing them with each other."

Mark lay silent.

As the sheer absurdity of their conversation set in, Mark announced, "this is going to be one fucking screwed up relationship isn't it?"

Roger laughed and agreed.

When their laughter had quieted, Mark said, "Sorry for killing the mood."

"It's fine. I think this is all so new to us, it's important to get all this shit out while it's just starting."

"That way each of us knows what expect," Mark finished.

"Yeah. But you know what, Mark?"

"What?"

"Right now I don't expect anything more than for you to kiss me."

"I can do that."

They didn't speak for quite some time.

The next day was Saturday, and Mark approached Roger's house in the early afternoon, knowing that his boyfriend was probably just waking up.

Luckily, Mrs. Davis opened the door. Though she was smiling politely, there was a look on her face that made Mark feel she wasn't exactly thrilled at his presence.

"He just woke up a few minutes ago," she told him, beckoning Mark inside.

She retreated to the kitchen as Mark walked upstairs, a jaunt in his step.

Roger was towel-drying his wet hair as he walked through the hall towards his room. When Mark saw Roger, he crossed the space between them quickly and ruffled Roger's wet hair, kissing him lightly on the mouth.

Mark pulled away, grinning. Roger smirked, walking to his room. Mark followed. Once inside, Roger turned and asked, "What's with the grinning? Something funny?"

Mark kissed him again, slower this time. He pulled away, but only slightly. Their faces still close together, Mark admitted, "We have a great thing here, you know. It's pretty fast, but this is quickly becoming the most serious relationship I've ever had. I'm happier than I've ever been. So, screw the consequences, I decided. I'm just going to enjoy this."

Quickly finishing his sentence, Mark kissed Roger again.

"Not that I mind," Roger began, holding Roger's arms in his own, "but what exactly brought this on?"

"I don't actually know. I think maybe it was the dream that I had last night… I graduated from high school, then college and then lived in Scarsdale for the rest of my life, a middle-class businessman. I can't let that happen. I have no clue where this is going to take me, but wherever it is, it's a hell of a lot better than the alternative."

"What about school?"

"You mean all those idiots who have nothing better to do than make fun of or shun people that are the slightest bit different? Fuck them all. This is the new Mark Cohen, who doesn't give a shit about what anyone else thinks. We've got each other, and that's all that matters."

"I think I like this new Mark," Roger murmured.

"Good, cause I think he's here to stay."

"Perfect," Roger grinned. "Now, New Mark, what are we doing today?"

Rather than the uncertain response Mark would have made, new, confident, mature Mark smiled and replied, "We're going to have fun. Come on, you're gonna take me out tonight."

This sexy confidence Mark had recently acquired seemed to draw Roger to him, and Roger closed his door and pulled Mark with him onto his bed.

Looking down at his boxer-clothed state, Roger grinned and asked, "So how long does that give us?"

"Hours," Mark responded, a devilish grin marking his usually innocent features. "Plenty of time."


End file.
